Hero or Heroin
by amorae
Summary: After years of hiding it, Dave began to crack. His feelings were beginning to get the best of him, and he could only hope that Kurt felt the same. Possibly AU, set after "Furt." Rated T for pg13 elements.
1. Chapter 1

Just wanted to quickly apologize for the fact that this chapter is a little slow. It's mostly setting the stage, and although I really _despise _it when novels, etc, do that, I felt it was necessary to better understand this fic. I'm not going to say there are any spoilers because if you're surfing the Glee Kurtofsky fandom you've probably already seen "Never Been Kissed." However, I do draw on an assumption that is based off of some "spoilers" I've heard (That Karofsky gets suspended and Azimo gets expelled for beating up Kurt). Just be warned that this is set sometime after the episode that's going to air on November 23rd.

I hope you guys enjoy the fic! I'm a HUGE shipper of Kurtofsky even though I am aware it probably won't happen.

This will probably get a lot heavier and more "T-to-M" rated as I keep writing it. Just so you guys know.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Dave Karofsky was _not _staring intently at Kurt Hummel's ass, and if you told him otherwise you would be introduced to the Fury.

No; Dave was staring intently in the other direction, with one eye on Kurt as he pranced around the classroom. Kurt was, after all, the best student in French 3. He enjoyed walking around everyone's desks and pointing out their mistakes or exalting them in their accomplishments. "Bon travail!" he called out, patting classmates on the back while beaming at them. "Eh…le passé compose avec 'être' utilisez 'DR et MRS VANDERTRAMPP' verbes, monsieur Israel. Comprendez?" He smiled at Jacob, who glowered at him in retaliation.

Kurt skipped over Dave without even so much as a second glance. Which was fine by Dave. Mostly because Dave didn't give a rats _ass_ about French, anyway. Who cared about the damn "laissons" and verb tenses and the _awful _concept that is "_le subjonctif_"? Honestly, Dave didn't want the fancy fairy poof to correct Dave's misuse of a noun or adjective. He certainly didn't want Kurt to read his sentence, "Il ne est pas possible que Kurt Hummel m'aime."

Dave frowned intently at the paper in front of him while absently listening to Kurt hum phrases in French to his classmates. Dave had only taken French because he knew Kurt Hummel was in it. The first week of Dave's sophomore year, he saw Kurt walk into the French 1 classroom. Kurt had walked with nothing short of a swagger, dressed fancier than any other student at McKinley High. It infuriated Dave as much as it fascinated him. Just that 10 second encounter with the boy was enough. It was like a compulsion; the next day he went to his counselor and witched out of Russian 2 for French 1. It was only an excuse to share a class with the fag. To make fun of him? Yeah, to make fun of him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the bell rang. Dave sprang from his seat, immediately closing his workbook and tucking it into his bag. Kurt flounced across the room to his bag, packing it up quickly. As soon as he started heading towards the door, Dave made a beeline towards him and slammed him into the doorframe. He sneered as he slid past the crumpled boy who only stared back at him blankly.

It had been two weeks since he had been suspended for beating up Kurt with Azimo. Azimo had been expelled, because Azimo was the driving force behind the punches, kicks, and fury. All Dave wanted to do was knock the fag around a bit. Maybe give him a nice sized shiner on that perfect and flawless face. Azimo, though, had had enough of Kurt's in-your-face homosexuality. To the point that when Dave had been successful in his attempts to give Kurt a shiner, Azimo kept wailing on him. Azimo beat him into the ground, tore apart his clothes, and ripped into any corner of soft flesh that was left on Kurt's body. It took all of Dave's strength to pull Azimo off of Kurt, who looked as if he might go unconscious at any moment. Azimo had screamed at Dave but the words were incomprehensible to Dave. Dave looked down at the pummeled Hummel, and felt a knife twist deep in his stomach. His mind shattered and he could feel his sanity slipping through his fingers like sand at a beach. He didn't even bother to try to pick up the handfuls that had escaped: he turned to Azimo, looked the burly jock in the eye, and gave Azimo a piece of his own medicine. Azimo had fallen to the linoleum of the high school, and at that moment, the blood of Kurt and Azimo was indistinguishable from each other as they pooled together to create a scene worthy of a horror movie. Kurt had looked Dave in the eye and mumbled: "thank you" before passing out. That left Dave in a sticky situation: two unconscious teenagers in front of him with gore splattering the floor. Dave did the only thing he could think to do. He took his phone out, called 911, and blubbered to the operator over what had happened.

Surprisingly, Kurt didn't lie. He told the police (when he was conscious) that Dave had done nothing more than his usual to Kurt and that it was Azimo who was the true criminal. Kurt promised the police that if Dave hadn't of pushed Azimo off and knocked him unconscious, Azimo probably would have continued until his dirty work was finished. While it was never explicitly said, Kurt implied that Dave had saved his life. The fact was that no matter how wonderful Dave had been after Azimo went crazy, Dave was still responsible for the purple welt on Kurt's flawless face.

Azimo was in jail. Dave was suspended for three days and had to do 300 hours of community service over the next year. Which was fine by Dave—turned out that he and Puckerman had a lot more in common than they would have thought. That kid in the wheelchair tutored both of them in geometry while Puckerman and Dave stood awkwardly on the side of the road in neon orange vests cleaning up trash.

That left Dave in an awkward position at school. His best friend was in jail because of three testimonies against him (Dave and Kurt's, plus the school's surveillance cameras). To some people, this made Dave look like a pussy. Some of his former "friends" had slushied him in the boys locker room after football practice. Their words slipped through gritted teeth as they proclaimed they'd beat the shit out of Dave if he ever told on one of the football boys again. They promised that the beating would be worse than the beating Kurt had received. On the other hand, though, some students were looking at him with respect and empathy—practically as if they wanted to be _friends_ with him. Which, in a way, was almost worse than his teammates giving him the slushie treatment during after school hours. What happened to his fear cred? Down the drain, just like Puckerman's. And Dave wasn't even in the faggy Glee club, either.

Kurt still wouldn't look at Dave, which tore him apart just as much as it amused him. There was a detached part of Dave that was able to deal with any problem life threw at him, including the fact that Kurt clearly thought of Dave as a slimy maggot. But there was still the fact that—

Dave didn't want to think about it.

Dave walked home that Friday, thinking about French class. Thinking about how happy Kurt had looked when students were able to pronounce words correctly. He thought about how the teacher had just let Kurt run the class, because it was one of the only things that brought a smile to Kurt's face. Somehow, the smiles he gave in French class made the swelled bruise look less intimidating and painful. Thinking about how happy Kurt had been in class brought a smile to Dave's face, until he realized what he was smiling about. He quickly turned it into a scowl.

His house looked surreal as he walked up to it. Everything was so perfect in his life. His yard was perfectly groomed, with perfect flower beds placed strategically all across the lawn. He walked up to the mahogany door and pushed it open, feeling like an intruder in his own home. The feelings of being an outcast had only gotten worse over the past month. It started out small, with Dave thinking that he couldn't wait to get out of Lima. It escalated into him thinking his parents hated him and that he was going to be disowned at any moment.

"Hi, Ma," he called out, swinging his backpack off of one shoulder and holding it in his hands. He dragged it across the floor and threw it on the staircase as he made his way to the kitchen. His mother sat at the kitchen table, stuffing her face with sweets—as usual. The kitchen was immaculate for the most part; the table was covered with chocolate residue and the remains of potato chips and crumbs of cake.

"Hi, sweetie," she mumbled through mouthfuls of food. "How was your day?"

_You don't care_. "It was fine."

"What did you learn today?"

_That you disgust me_. "Uh, I learned some new stuff about writing in French in the past tense."

His mom gave him a blank stare—he had reached territory beyond her ability to cope. Dave wondered if she even knew what the term "past tense" meant. "That's wonderful, sweetie," she finally said (after she swallowed a particularly large chunk of sweets).

Dave mumbled that he was going to go to his room to work on homework. "Okay, sweetie," she said, waving him off with big, meaty hands. Dave slinked back to the staircase, picking up his bag and dragging it across each step as he thudded his way upstairs.

When Dave got into his room, he shut the door behind him and turned the lock. He sat down on his bed and let his face slowly sink into his hands.

He didn't know what to do anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, hi guys! I want to say something real quick.

Every Kurtofsky fic I have read - and I mean _every single damn one_ - has had Dave's parents be stereotypical redneck republicans. I always imagine his mother as being thin and blond, carting a pie around her at all times even though she's not technically supposed to leave the kitchen. And his dad is a burly, six-foot-seven type of guy, who could probably strangle Dave in an instant.  
I tried to avoid this with my fic. If for no other reason, to give you guys a different perspective. Reading the same family life over and over again must get boring. I also don't think that Dave's parents are going to turn out like that because it's too damn predictable. There are so many other damaging family types out there (I would know, I could probably write a successful tear-jerker about how shitty my family has been to me) that it's unreasonable and silly to keep placing Dave's family in the same category of "shitty-ass-parents."  
Just a "the more you know" thing.

Okay, happy reading, guys!

* * *

Dave awoke in the middle of the night, the sheets sticky and tangled around his body. He sat up quickly, pushing the messy sheets away from him. He nearly leered at the damn things as he relished the gust of cold air that rolled across his bare chest. Beads of sweat trickled down to his chin as he stared at the wall in front of him.

He hated himself.

Prying himself away from the sheets, he stumbled his way to his dresser. His boxer's were messy. He stripped out of them, reaching blindly into his drawer for an extra pair of boxers as he used his other hand to wipe away the sweat on his face.

Fuck it. He had had yet another dream about Kurt.

Why was he so damn attracted to the ladyboy?

It had to be that he was feminine. Yeah. Maybe this was a bizarre twist of his heterosexuality; he was now—

He didn't even finish the thought. It just didn't make sense. Besides, he knew that his computer history said it all. The secret cache of erotic pictures he had stowed away in a tiny corner of his hard drive, the countless nights spent googling the word "gay" and reading every article and website that came up in the search…and of course, the nights he spent with gay male webcams up on his computer screen, watching men jerk off while Dave managed to swallow his shame for the moment to jack off too. There really wasn't any other way to put it.

Dave swayed on his feet. The room was cold and damp. He stared at the flickering monitor of the computer screen for a few moments. Without thinking too much about what he was about to do, Dave dashed over to the computer and agitated his mouse. The screen immediately popped back to life, everything how he had left it before.

It didn't even register in his mind.

He opened his bookmarks, quickly and shamefully clicking the link. The page loaded easily (he doubted too many people were using their computers at three AM). He quickly typed up what he was looking for, and before he could think about it, he pressed the dreaded button.

He had just sent a friend request to Kurt Hummel on Facebook.

When he backed away from the computer, he let what he had just done sink in. He wanted to be angry with himself; he wanted to scream, yell, and generally throw a fit.

_How could I be so stupid?_

_ …how could I be so __**hopeful**__? _

He crawled back in bed, trying not to let the waves of disgust wash over him and drag him out to sea.

It was just too much to bear. Too much to think about. It was as if he were a five year old boy on the playground; attacking the "prettiest girl" on the jungle-gym. Everyone knew why the five year old attacked the girl…because he secretly had a crush on her. But girls? They had _cooties_. He wasn't _supposed_ to like girls. So instead, he tormented her, until she hated him just as much as he loved her. It was the classic playground story, the stereotypical events that happened on _every _playground across the states. And Dave indulged in the complex as a 17 year old jock. Instead of it being towards a girl, though, it was towards a _boy_. Which, in a lot of ways, was a lot more horrifying than a girl with cooties.

Sometimes, Dave thought it was a miracle that no one had figured out what he was doing.

Except, well—except Kurt. Because Dave had snapped, and Dave had kissed Kurt. Dave curled up into a ball on his bed, bringing the covers up over his head. He tried to fight back the tears and the stomachache that threatened to engulf him and swallow him whole.

It was the way Kurt walked. So high and mighty, so _okay _with his faggy-ness. So damn okay with the fact that most of the world hated him for his sexuality. Yet Kurt didn't _care_. Kurt was proud of himself, proud of the fact that he was different. Dave resented that as much as he admired it. All his life, Dave had wanted one thing: to fade into the background. He was perfectly fine with the fact that he was going to disappear off of the collective conscious once he graduated high school. He was a good football player, but not good enough to get a scholarship. He'd go to trade school, learn how to fix cars, and open up a mechanical shop at the edge of town. Dave had always been okay with his fate. Kurt had changed that. Kurt had made Dave want _more_ to life.

No; it was Kurt's eyes. They were so emotional, and each shard of color stood out vibrantly against his face. They were wide and bright, even when Dave had just pushed Kurt into a locker or into a wall. Dave couldn't help but think that they held promise.

Wrong again. It was Kurt's smile. The way it lit up the room, the way it made Dave's knees knock together if he thought about it for too long.

Dave groaned. He sounded like a lovesick puppy. Like a lovesick fag. Like a lovesick _girl_.

He couldn't help it. Kurt brought out the romantic side of Dave in a way that no Cheerio had ever done. Thinking about holding Kurt's hands sent butterflies through his stomach and up his throat. Thinking about touching Kurt's soft skin sent electric waves through his veins. Every time Dave grabbed Kurt to shove him into a wall, he could feel the heat and desire emanating off of his own body. He wondered if Kurt felt it, too, or if Kurt had misinterpreted it all as hate.

Thinking about kissing Kurt and doing…_other things_ with him…was almost too much for Dave to think about. Kissing Cheerios had always been boring. Dave knew that kissing Kurt would be _far_ from boring.

_Go to sleep, Dave_, he yelled in his head. _Before you drive yourself crazy._

It took a while, and it was a fitful sleep, but Dave eventually did fall asleep: clinging to his pillow, desperately willing it to be Kurt.

The following morning, Dave _really _didn't want to go to school.

He didn't want to have to face Kurt. Dave's head was spinning as he sat up in his bed. There were so many things he wanted to say and do to Kurt. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to push Kurt into a wall while screaming things like "homo," "ladyboy," and "fairy" at him. So basically, Dave wanted to act as he had for the past 2 years of high school. But on the other hand, there was a part of him that wanted to grab Kurt's hand in his own. He wondered what Kurt's hands felt like—were they rough and scrabbly, like Dave's own, or were they soft and smooth, like a Cheerios'?—he wanted to kiss Kurt. Up against a wall, violently, with so much force and desperation the air cackled around them with energy. Dave also wanted to run as far as he could from the boy who confused him so much.

"Davey?" he heard his mother call. From downstairs, of course. Dave grimaced and stood up, stretching. He saw his soiled clothes in the corner of his room and grimaced. He tried to ignore them as he kicked them under his bed and started dressing himself for yet another day at McKinley high.

The walk to school was boring. He had walked to school alone for as long as he could remember. Even when parents were walking their tiny seven year olds to school or at least to the bus stop, Dave had been alone. He tried to think back—did his mom even walk him to the bus stop on his first day of kindergarten?—but he didn't want to think about that. A few times, Azimo had driven by and had offered to give Dave a ride. But Dave had turned down the offer three or four times, to the point where Azimo eventually gave up and stopped asking. There was just something about walking alone that Dave really liked.

When he arrived at McKinley high, it was to a confusing scene. A bunch of guys from the football team were huddled in a circle, their letterman jackets sticking out like sore thumbs against the bleak off-white bricking of their school building. A few guys from the hockey team and basketball team were there, too. Dave moved closer to see what was happening. He felt sick to his stomach; dread grew like a cancer up his throat and into his mouth. He tried to lick his lips, but his tongue felt like a slab of dead meat.

As he drew closer, he heard the distinct voice of none other than Kurt Hummel. "Don't you think Azimo and Karofsky did _enough_ to me?" Kurt asked sarcastically. Dave was just enough in the background to avoid his teammates seeing him and inevitably drawing him into the "action."

"You got our buddy arrested," one of the hockey boys growled.

Kurt scoffed. "I didn't get him arrested. The chubby lowlife got himself arrested."

_Kurt must really like calling people he doesn't like "chubby_," Dave thought as he stayed as still as he possibly could. _Don't move. Don't breathe. Just listen_.

That new kid, Sam, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. His back was turned to Dave, but Dave could only imagine the sneer that was on his face. Dave didn't like that kid too much: he thought it was annoying that the kid dyed his hair blond. "You're going to have to pay for what you did, Hummel."

It took a moment for Kurt to respond, but when he did, it was low, quiet, and vicious. "Sam, I thought we were partners. Together through Glee Club. I guess I was wrong."

"I would never be partners with _you_. That's gay." The crowd laughed raucously at that.

Then, one by one, like a hive of droning bees, the jocks moved in on Kurt.

* * *

JUST LET ME SAY THIS REAL QUICK OKAY OKAY OKAY

Sam is only doing this to gain cred with the jocks. He has to be cool and popular, et cetera, and although he probably does like Kurt, I can imagine that Sam probably feels threatened by Kurt (especially after Kurt hit on him so ridiculously in Duets). Sam is focused on popularity, and I think that he is so focused it would drive him to doing this to Kurt. "Hey - it wasn't personal."

I'm sorry to any hardcore Sam fans. I don't dislike him and if this fic was in Kurt's perspective, I would include something about Kurt and Sam running into each other and Kurt screaming at Sam for being such a dick. But this fic is in Dave's perspective and unfortunately I will be limited to second-hand information when it comes to that. I just wanted everyone to know that while it may seem slightly "out of character," I'm drawing on the Sam we've seen in previous episodes who just isn't a very nice kid at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Hahaha, I got a few reviews saying "DON'T WORRY ABOUT EXPLAINING SAM'S BEHAVIOR!" so thank you! That actually made me quite nervous. So thanks for calming me down!

Anyway, not much to say about this, other than "watch out for blood" but this fic is rated T so WHATEVS.

Kay, enjoy!

* * *

Dave didn't think. He only reacted.

It was as if the world was in slow motion as he ran towards the circle of jocks. The world was silent. The only sound he could hear was the breath whistling through his body, helping him run faster and faster.

Finally, he made contact with one of the jocks. He pushed it out of his way, growling with anger. He had had enough of the bullying. He had had enough of getting blamed for Azimo's assholishness. And he had had _enough_ of hiding behind his fists.

The jocks turned to him. Their faces reflected shock as Dave punched the lights out of each of their eyes. He couldn't tell if the screaming was coming from them or if it was coming from him. He felt deep rumbles in his chest as his world dripped red.

Some of the jocks tried to get away. Some of them succeeded. Dave chased after a few of them, the ones he knew were major perpetrators. He kicked all of them in the balls.

He made sure to grab Sam. Sam spun around, looking terrified. "Hey, man," he said. But that was all he was able to get out before Dave punched a hole through his pretty (big) mouth. Sam staggered back, wiping blood from his lips. "What the fuck, Karofsky," he swore.

"You were supposed to take care of him," Dave growled, his fists clenched at his sides. "You were his teammate. His _friend_."

"The same could be said about you and Azimo, buddy," Sam sneered. The sneer was what sent Dave over the edge. It wasn't really like Sam could have defended himself, anyway; Dave was at least 100 pounds heavier than the thin, blond, _ladyboy_. Dave only reigned himself in when he saw that Sam was whimpering, curled up in the fetal position, bruised hands desperately trying to protect his more sensitive areas.

Dave turned around and headed back to the stunned Kurt. All of this had taken place in about four minutes. It looked as if Kurt was shell shocked. He had a cut on his cheek, but that was the extent to the damage the jocks had done to him.

Dave stood in front of him and held out a hand.

Kurt took it willingly.

They looked at each other for a long and pregnant moment before Kurt mumbled: "Why?"

It took Dave a second to process the question. He shrugged. "Because I like you, ladyboy," he said without thinking. Once the words were out, his eyes grew wide. He couldn't take them back. He knew that they could be read two different ways: _I like you as a friend_ and _I like you, like you_.

Kurt didn't respond. What was there to say when the person who had tormented you day in and day out for two years of high school wound up protecting you not once—but _twice_?

After a moment of silence, Dave tugged on the sleeve of his letterman jacket agitatedly. "C'mon, Hummel. You got a car?"

"Yeah," Kurt automatically replied, looking up at the jock with a curious expression,

"Let's skip school."

"You're crazy. Why would I skip school with you, hamhock?"

Dave smirked down at Kurt. A feeling was swelling in his chest, and all Dave could think was: _He's so cute. He's trying so hard to keep up his façade. _"First of all," Dave said with a hint of mirth in his voice, "I don't think the insults are going to fly right now. I just saved you twice in the past month."

Kurt interrupted him. "After _years_ of tormenting me? Don't flatter yourself."

"There's a difference between throwing you against a locker and seriously pummeling the shit out of you," Dave said quietly. "I may have thought about it a few times—like when that Finn guy came to your rescue—but I don't think I could have done more than give you a shiner." Dave looked at the purple on Kurt's face. It was looking a little better than it did yesterday. Dave wanted to touch it, but knew that Kurt would not be okay with that.

Dave took a deep breath. "Do you want to be here to explain to Principal Figgins and to the cops what happened? We can go get a coffee and a Danish…or whatever it is you gay guys like."

It was Kurt's turn to sneer at Dave. He raised an eyebrow at the taller and broader jock. "'You gay guys'? You're one to talk!"

"So let's talk about it. Over coffee and pastries. _Anywhere but here, Hummel_." Dave was starting to get desperate. He knew that he would eventually have to face the police, and he knew that he would probably get away with what he had done on a self-defense charge, but he still didn't like encounters with the police. Bad childhood memories and more. He shook his head a tiny bit to clear his mind as he gestured towards the school parking lot. "Let's go, Hummel."

Kurt hesitantly lead the way to his car, looking over his shoulder every few minutes, as if making sure Dave was still following him. They reached Kurt's car and Dave crawled into the passenger's seat with some difficulty. The car was a VW Bug. There was a hint of shock in his mind that he had even fit at all.

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Kurt's hands were shaking to the point that Dave wondered if the junior had ever skipped school before. It looked as if he hadn't. Somehow, Dave found that endearing. Kurt was obviously a better student than Dave was.

"Did you know I'm actually kind of smart?" Dave blurted out for no reason at all.

Kurt turned his head to Dave and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't know what this has to do with anything, but please, elaborate—by all means."

Dave fidgeted in his seat. "Well, you always call me 'ignoramus' and 'Neanderthal.' It's always kind of stung because I'm actually really good at science and math. Not geometry—I hate geometry. I've failed it twice now. But I'm in calculus, and I'm in advanced physics, and they even let me take advanced chemistry this year, too. I'm not too good with words. I hate English. But I had a scholarship to Notre Dame for science. I turned it down."

"Why!" Kurt's voice was incredulous, as if he had forgotten who Dave was and was momentarily indulging in incredulity for fun. "Why would you do that?"

Dave shrugged. "I love science. But all my life people have been calling me stupid, because it's the stereotype or whatever. I'm fine with going to the community college and learning how to take apart cars. I've already figured it was my destiny or whatever."

Kurt's voice was angry. "Destiny? You make your own destiny, hamhock. You had a chance to get out of Lima and you blew it. Wow, Karofsky."

"I didn't blow it," Dave mumbled, more to himself than to Kurt. "Princeton in New Jersey called me the other day and told me that they wanted to have an interview with me."

They had mercifully pulled into a _Starbucks _parking lot by this point. Dave gratefully stepped out of the car, taking care to close it gently. He waited for Kurt to lock up the car and then together they walked into the building. Dave held the door open for Kurt, which earned yet another Hummel-sneer. For some stupid reason, it made Dave's knees knock together.

They stood in line together and ordered together, but when Kurt dug out his wallet Dave put a tentative hand over Kurt's. He tried to keep his voice steady as he said, "No, I'll be paying for this." Kurt's hands were soft, softer than a Cheerios', and Dave had the strongest urge to grab it and entwine his fingers with Kurt's.

Kurt looked as if he was going to complain or argue, but he knew never to turn down free food. He shut up and found a seat for the two to sit at.

Once Dave had collected their goodies, he looked around in an attempt to find Kurt. (Kurt had ordered a "grande" caramel macchiato with a caramel scone to the side. Dave had ordered a "tall" hot chocolate—it was the only thing he recognized—and a chocolate chip muffin that was close to the size of his head.) Kurt had found a seat in the very back of the store, away from everyone else. Dave wondered if it was because Kurt was ashamed or if it was because Kurt wanted privacy. He also wondered whether Kurt knew the answer himself.

He plopped the tray onto the table and spun it so that Kurt's selections were pointed towards Kurt. Dave sat down and picked up his hot chocolate, popping the top off to spoon out the whipped cream (he had deliberated for a moment but had decided to grab an actual spoon to do this, thinking that Kurt would not appreciate Dave's tongue wildly searching for remnants of the whipped cream in the cup).

"So, what do you want to talk about?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four, not much else to say. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Just so you know, things are a little crazy in my life, but I'm hoping that sometime tonight I can find some time to write. I have SO much friggin' homework, though...

* * *

"Uh…I want to talk about you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. And I wanted to apologize for always beating on you."

"Wow, I didn't know I was worthy of a Dave Karofsky apology."

Dave's lip cricked up into a smile. "Yeah, not too many people are."

Kurt looked as if he wanted to be uncomfortable, but couldn't. His eyes reflected a sort of calm happiness that Dave had never seen before. It made Dave want to smile. It made Dave want to make sure Kurt never felt any other emotion in his entire life. "You know, uhm…," Kurt's voice trailed off, as if unsure what to call Dave.

"You can call me Dave…although hamhock is fine, too."

"Okay. Uhm, Dave. I don't really know how to react. I mean, you've tormented me for two years. Every single day. And now, here you are, treating me to my favorite _Starbucks _meal and acting as if none of it had ever happened. Can I have some sort of explanation?"

Dave squirmed under the heat of Kurt's intense stare. It happened to be both interested and disgusted, happy and sad, and thankful and angry, all at the same time. He wondered if Kurt really wanted the truth. He wondered if Dave was able to tell Kurt the truth. After a few minutes, Dave settled with: "Your friend was right. The kid in the blue uniform."

Kurt's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "You're really gay?" he gasped.

Dave took a huge gulp of his hot chocolate. He stared intently into the milky depths before nearly whispering, "Yeah."

"That doesn't explain why you've tormented me for two years."

He couldn't help it; pain and frustration laced through Dave's features. He looked up and felt the sarcasm bubble to his lips. "Really, Kurt? Mr. I'm-so-perfect-and-gay can't figure out why a closeted gay guy would _possibly _pick on the only other gay guy in the school?"

The table fell silent as Dave's angry words sunk in. He took another giant gulp of his hot chocolate, draining it to the dregs. He picked off a piece of his muffin and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing furiously.

Kurt's words appeared forced to Dave. "I…I didn't know, Dave." Dave tried to reign his anger in as he swallowed the muffin. It was stale, but he could tell that if he had been eating it when it was fresh it would have been a very good muffin. "I'm sorry, Dave. Really. I am." Dave no longer read the words as forced, but as difficult to get out. Which he could understand. It really wasn't everyday that your tormentor confessed his undying love to you.

Then, something Dave thought would never happen, happened.

Kurt reached across the table and placed his hand over Dave's. Kurt worked on Dave's surprised fingers for a moment until they unfolded, which is when Kurt placed his own finger's between Dave's.

Dave felt as if he was going to faint with happiness at any moment.

"What about that kid? The kid in the blue uniform who can read my mind." Although Dave didn't want to ask, didn't want to think about it, he needed to know. He needed to know if the pair were dating or if Kurt wanted to date him or what the situation was between the two.

The faraway look in Kurt's eyes nearly stabbed Dave in the heart. "We're not dating. He has a boyfriend, so don't worry about it." When Dave didn't respond, Kurt sighed heavily. He put his other hand up in the air, fingers spread, and waited for Dave to grab it. Dave did, and no matter how upset or angry he may have been with Kurt, the gesture nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. "Dave. You have to understand that what we're doing right now is shocking to me, and when I go home tonight I'm either going to have a panic attack or, I don't know, fall down the rabbit hole. Yes, I still have feelings for Blaine. But he has a boyfriend, and no matter what, I have to respect that. I don't know what's going to happen between you and me. I do need you to know, though, that if I go absolutely insane and agree to anything, that a condition of us being together is that you're going to have to accept that I still have some feelings for Blaine." Kurt kept his eyes down. "It doesn't mean that, uh, if I do go crazy, that I won't have feelings for you either. But just like I'm assuming our relationship will have to be a secret for you, you will have to understand my feelings, too."

Dave nodded dumbly, mostly excited by the prospect of Kurt actually giving him a chance. The idea made him feel dizzy.

They sat like that in silence: holding each others' hands and looking everywhere but at each others eyes. Every now and then Dave would look up at Kurt to see a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Why are you so okay with this?" Kurt asked suddenly. Dave looked up at him, confused, to see Kurt's expression morphing into something disgusted and upset. "Why are you so okay with holding my hand in public? Just a month ago you were calling me names." Kurt took his hands back and folded them across his chest. "People don't just change overnight, Karofsky."

He fidgeted in his seat under Kurt's angry stare. "Some people do change overnight, Kurt," he said. "I didn't, though. I don't know how to explain it."

"You better figure out how to, or else I'm leaving."

"No! Stay!" Dave grabbed Kurt's hands and held them as tightly as he could without hurting Kurt. Kurt looked surprised by the inflections in Dave's voice and the obvious sincerity that was shining through Dave's words. Dave took a deep breath. "Every time I pushed you or hurt you, it hurt me too.

"I guess in a really sick way, it was a form of self harm." At the look of disgust on Kurt's face, Dave backtracked. "No, don't take it that way. But…shit. I…just, shit, Kurt. Every single damn day I'd wake up and want to talk to you, okay? Ever since I first saw you in my sophomore year of high school. Did you know I transferred out of Russian 2 to be in your French class?"

Dave ignored the look of shock on Kurt's features. He didn't like how there was even a hint of amusement behind the shock. "But you're not even good at French," Kurt muttered under his breath. Kurt laughed at the momentary look of dismay on Dave's face.

"I really do try, dude," Dave said, careening off the path of his explanation for the moment. "I've tried to speak French before to impress you but I guess all of the locker slamming just made you ignore it."

"There have been a few times where I've been proud of your pronunciation," Kurt mused. Dave thought for a moment, and then said _the hell with it_. He reached down and grabbed his backpack. He dug through it until he found his French notebook. He opened it up to the page with the "_le subjonctif_" practices and showed the sentences to Kurt.

"I'm sorry if this looks creepy," Dave said, feeling a little sheepish. "I just couldn't think of anything else that would fit the exercise. I mean, a tense that expresses doubt? Yeah, only one thing was running through my mind."

Kurt stared at the page. For a second, Dave feared that Kurt was going to throw the notebook at him and exclaim how creepy it was that Dave had written so many sentences about Kurt, ranging from "il ne est possible que Kurt Hummel m'aime" to "Il faut que je parle à Kurt Hummel." Kurt pointed at one of the sentences. "Your wording is a little off." He smiled—a genuine smile. He placed the notebook beside him and glanced down at his untouched scone. He tore a chunk of it off. "Continue with your explanation," he said, right before popping the chunk of scone into his mouth. There was something different about the way Kurt was talking, though. He sounded nicer, more genuine.

"Uh," Dave said eloquently. "So, uh, yeah. Every day I'd wake up and want to talk to you. But when…I'd see Azimo and the other jocks every morning for practice. And they'd always be talking about how awful it'd be to be a fag, and to be gay. Which stung. 'Cause I've known I'm, uh, gay, since I was, like, 12. Since I sort of discovered my own junk. So knowing that my only 'friends' would disown me sort of hurt. So I'd have to make a point to make sure I wasn't gay. So you were my target. I'm sorry." Dave's shoulders fell as he picked up another piece of the muffin.

"But every night I'd go home and hate myself even more for hurting you and for being mean to you. I'd try to go into school to be nice, but the same thing happened every day.

"I've been cracking for a while. Which is why I kissed you. Then I got coerced into beating you up, and then I beat the shit out of Azimo. Something inside of me just broke apart and I knew that I had to stop bullying you. It's just been hard. Because the guys on the team have been bullying me now, too, which has really only served as more incentive to stop bullying you."

Dave held his hands up, spreading his fingers in an _I Surrender_ gesture. "I guess I've finally gotten the courage to talk to you, huh?"


End file.
